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Updated: May 31, 2025
Ruddy isn't in it, deah old boy, so they they," interposed Clifford Melville, alias Joseph Sobieski of Posen. "Diplomathy is all very well, but thith kind of diplomathy is not good for the thoul." He laughed as only one of his kidney can laugh. Upon the laugh there came a hoarse growl of anger. Barry Whalen was standing above Mr. Clifford Melville with rage in every fibre, threat in every muscle.
Al'mah and Jasmine had been under the same roof but now; and Al'mah was nursing Jasmine's husband surely life was merely farce and tragedy. At this moment an orderly delivered a message to Barry Whalen. He rose to go, but turned back to Stafford again. "She'd be glad to see you, I'm certain," he said. "You never can tell what a turn sickness will take in camp, and she's looking pretty frail.
Uncle James would wear a gray wig and "small clothes" and personate "Grandsir Whalen"; Kyzie Dunlee, Grandsir's old wife, in white cap, "short gown," and petticoat, was to be "Granny Whalen" of course. A grandson and granddaughter were needed for this aged couple. Edith would make a lovely granddaughter and pretend to spin flax. Who would play the grandson and shell the corn?
I-I'm h-hit!! I-I-I'm h-h-hit!!!" Then they would burst forth with a song written by William Whalen in commemoration of the exploits of the doughty sheriff, a song which since has become a favorite of the migratory workers as they travel from job to job, and which will serve to keep the deeds of McRae fresh in the minds of the workers for many years to come. TO SHERIFF McRAE
"The Baas where the Baas?" Barry Whalen turned with an angry snort to the figure in the doorway. "Here's the sweet Krool again," he said. "Here's the faithful, loyal offspring of the Vaal and the karoo, the bulwark of the Baas.... For God's sake smile for once in your life!" he growled with an oath, and, snatching up a glass of whiskey and water, threw the contents at the half-caste.
Whispering together they listened, and Stafford shrank away to the far side of the room; but more than one face showed pleasure in the sound of the whip and the moaning. It went on and on. Barry Whalen, however, was possessed of a kind of fear, and presently his face became troubled. This punishment was terrible. Byng might kill the man, and all would be as bad as could be. Stafford came to him.
His face was white as he leaned over Barry Whalen to look at Rudyard, but suddenly the blood came back to his cheek. "He wants brandy," Jigger said. "Well, go and get it," said Barry sharply. "I've got it here," was the reply; and he produced a flask. "Well, I'm damned!" said Barry. "You'll have a gun next, and fire it too!" "A 4.7," returned Jigger impudently.
No one spoke for a moment, for all saw that Barry Whalen was about to say something important, coming forward to the table impulsively for the purpose, when a noise from the darkened room beyond fell upon the silence. De Lancy Scovel heard, Fleming heard, others heard, and turned towards the little room.
At this moment the regimental quartermaster, Isaac Saffarrens, a brother of the redoubtable hero of Belmont, whose deeds of valor will be duly chronicled, appeared on the scene of action, and attempted to arrest the man Whalen, whose only crime had been committed in saving the sergeant from further beating. Whalen told him that he would not be arrested, as he had not created any disturbance.
'Waiting for me? he asks, and I tells him I was hoping it would be the new Whalen vessel. 'Here's one that's as good as any Whalen vessel, he says 'as good as anything out of Boston or Gloucester, he says. So across the Bay we had it out. And, gentlemen, I'm telling you the Colleen sailed all the wind she wanted. She came along, and Lowrie by the looks of things then he's sailing yet.
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